


Sweat in the snow, blood on our hearts

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Series: Marie's POTS Server Stocking Fills 2019 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Sex, Hopeful Ending, Kissing, Love/Hate, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rough Sex, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: Prompt - Post Civil War, Steve and Tony hook up for angry hate sex, or, when boys don't use their words, they use their dicks instead.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Marie's POTS Server Stocking Fills 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560796
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109
Collections: POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2019





	Sweat in the snow, blood on our hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [5bluetriangles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5bluetriangles/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [5bluetriangles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5bluetriangles/pseuds/5bluetriangles) in the [stony_stocking_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2019) collection. 



> Hey! I hope you enjoy this, it's grown longer than I intended simply because, well, you gotta let them do their thing when they ask like that uh? ;-) hope you'll enjoy the read!

The bomb goes off and the wall is bursting into pieces and the next thing Tony knows is they're both sent flying across the room to lie in a heap on the floor. His ears are buzzing a bit and of course this had to happen the one day he's not wearing a suit because he's _not technically on this mission._

  
The fact that Steve is lying right on top of him and their faces are inches apart from one another registers a little too slow for Tony's liking, too. Steve's eyes are wide, so blue, - Tony'd forgotten how blue they were. He's holding his breath even though he can feel his heart beating up his throat and his arms are laying beside him and Steve's hands just near his wrist and neck with how he's holding himself up and he cannot move his eyes from Steve’s…

  
Steve licks his lips distractedly, his eyebrows drawn together as he frowns. Tony coughs. Breaks the spell. Coughs again. 

  
"You're crushing me, Rogers." He says roughly, much more roughly than any of his thoughts would have led him to believe he could talk right then. 

  
Steve startles, his eyes widening further as he scrambles to lean back and straighten up. 

  
"I'm sorry, so sorry, let me just…" 

  
" _Ouch_!" Tony grimaces as Steve's rushing up makes him kneel on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh through his pants. 

  
"Sorry." Steve repeats and he looks it too, but Tony doesn't see it, he's already turned away to get up himself. 

  
And he doesn't want to see it anyway. Too soon? Maybe. 

  
They gather their scattered gear and get out of the building knowing that Fury's agents are not far behind to take over. They don't talk at all during the ride back to the compound. And neither man looks at the other when he thinks he's not looking either. Of course not. 

It's two days after that, that Tony goes down to the gym of the compound a floor down from his quarters - he likes the glass windows there, the way they let the moonlight in at this hour - only to find that Steve is already there. He's tempted to turn right around and just come back later, or not at all, but even with the sheer noise Steve is making as he punches a growingly distressed bag, Tony knows he's heard him, there's no way he hasn't. He bites his lip and remembers the words of his therapist, mainly that part about knowing when to back down, and when to push forward, to put his needs first more often. He needs the workout, he's accumulated enough tension these last few days that he feels ten years older than his age. 

  
Pushing forward it is. 

  
Steve pauses in his punching, but doesn't turn around. 

  
Tony takes measured step after measured step, trying not to go back _there_ , where it was cold and dark and painful and Steve also used his fists and it wasn't nearly as hot as it is now. Tony shakes his head and lets his mat fall down on the sparring mats to pinch the bridge of his nose - he'd thought Siberia would have cured him of that particular train of thought. Tough life. It hasn't. 

  
Tony starts warming up a bit, rolling his shoulders, his wrists, his ankles, bending forward until he can touch his toes, turning his chest on its axis on one side, then the other - and not pausing every time he turns right and sees the way Steve has gone back to punching that bag with as much strength as he can, not pausing to watch the muscles in his back ripple with brute force and his tee-shirt gradually cling tighter and tighter to his back as he sweats his energy away. 

  
But he must have. Because the next thing he knows, Steve's stopped but hasn’t turned, and is watching Tony out of the corner of his eye.. 

  
Tony's breath punches out of him at the thickness of the tension in the room, in the air, around his brain and surrounding Steve, it's almost unbearable. He reminds himself to breathe, only to feel himself flaming up when Steve actually talks - ends the status quo, the masquerade that let them both enjoy the gym without acknowledging each other. 

  
"You're staring, Tony." 

  
"It's Stark to you." Tony spits. He turns around to do push-ups and certainly not to hide the way his cheeks are flaming up. "And if you don't want me staring, you're free to leave." 

  
" _What_?" Steve scoffs, then tries again, "Tony?" 

  
Tony keeps going with his push-ups, speeds up even before Steve catches on. 

  
" _St_ \--" Steve huffs again and Tony can tell he's getting closer even through the sheer noise of his breathing as he keeps pushing up, and going down, and pushing up, and… "I can't do that, Tony, please… I… Fuck, would you stop and look at me!" 

  
"I thought you didn't want me staring," Tony bit again, but sat up, crossing his legs and grabbing his water bottle. 

  
Steve is standing, right there, at the edge of the sparring mat, like he wants to keep coming closer and Tony snaps. "What do you fucking want, Rogers? Huh? You're back here and you keep making that fucking puppy face and trying to get on every damn mission I am," Tony's voice raises in volume and he throws his bottle down as he gets up, his face contorting in anger as he keeps shouting, "What is, your, _fucking_ , deal? What do you-- hmpf,"

  
He knows now. He guesses. Not that the way Steve crossed the three feet that separated them in two strides before winding an arm around his waist and pulling Tony to him until he could crash their mouths together is an actual answer. But it kind of is.

  
Tony's teeth hurt when Steve's lips land on his. His hands are grappling for a handle on this situation. They fist in the drenched fabric of Steve's shirt, right at his hips. One of them continues its journey until he has a handful of Steve's hair, matted with sweat, between his fingers. He doesn't remember to breathe. He just lets Steve meld their lips together. Lets himself claim Steve's mouth with his tongue. It's furious, it's fierce, and Tony's body is already betraying all the promises he'd made himself when he'd decided to let the Rogues come back. To let Steve Rogers come back. 

  
Not going back to five years ago. Not going back to that time they fucked in the conference room. Not going back to that weird feeling he'd had inside his stomach every time Steve looked at him and it seemed like there might be more there. Until there wasn't. Until the next thing Tony was aware of was the gray of Jim's suit covered in snow and the white of the hospital room he'd been forced into. 

  
He gasps, and Steve pushes his tongue further inside Tony's mouth. His hands are everywhere, on Tony's shoulders, and hips, and his ass even; then on his cheek and in his hair and then he's lifting Tony and before Tony catches on, they're back on the mat, horizontally this time and it's perfect even if it's messed-up. Tony's hips stutter above the mat and Steve meets him halfway and they're grinding against one another without ever stopping their kissing, that's both a battle of teeth and a reunion of their lips. Muscle memory. 

  
" _Stark_ ," Steve pants in his ear and Tony can't hold back his moan, nor the way he grinds harder against Steve, feeling the outline of the man's cock behind his shorts. 

  
"To-- Touch me," Tony's voice breaks, and he wants _so much,_ and he hates it and yet he doesn't. He's been foolish to think they wouldn't end back right where they started, and to be so convinced he didn't want it. He does. He so does. "Rogers, fucking touch me." 

  
Steve's next breath comes with a short laugh that gets cut off when Tony sneaks a hand past the waistband of his shorts and underwear and squeezes his ass at the same time as he thrusts his hips up, questing, demanding. Steve moans, then fits a hand between them to reach inside Tony's sweatpants. He finds his cock and squeezes.

  
"You can do better than that." 

  
That makes Steve smile against Tony's cheek. He straightens up on his elbow and looks Tony in the eye as he cocks his head to the side and his hand starts stroking up and down the shaft of Tony's cock, faster than Tony had anticipated, harder than he'd thought and Tony howls. He cries, he moans, he bites his lip and all the while he keeps a secure hand on Steve's ass, massages the flesh of it until he can't take it anymore. 

  
It's with both hands that Tony pushes Steve's shorts and boxers down, until they're at his knees and the man's cock bobs against his stomach, red and so hard, and when Tony takes it in hand, _finally_ , just as smooth as he remembered. They jerk each other off, drink each other's moans, and Tony cries as he wars with himself, with his feelings, with what he thinks of this, with whether or not he is making the biggest mistake of his life letting Steve in again like this. 

  
Steve kisses him again, kisses him and fists his cock so Tony's thoughts slip to the back burner.

  
At some point, Steve lets himself fall closer to Tony, until their rucked-up tee-shirts are sticking to each other and Tony's back arches at the way their cocks brush together. 

  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Tony bites his lip, watches as Steve's eyes glass over, moans when Steve's arms come back to encasing him between their hard, warm muscles. " _Yes_."

  
Steve starts pumping his hips so their cocks glide more and more wetly against each other, his mouth stuck open above Tony's, his hot breath fanning over Tony's face until Tony reaches up to kiss him. And he can feel it, right at the end of his vision, at the tips of his fingers and dick. The horizon is trembling and his hands find their way to Steve's face, angling his head to push his tongue further inside Steve's mouth, taking all the breath he has, and moaning all throughout. 

  
"I'm gonna…" he doesn't have the energy to say it, and Steve doesn't have the energy to say it back and yet here they go. Together. Sticky and shaky and sweaty, coming between each other's chests, panting silent screams. 

  
Whether this was a mistake or not, Tony lays boneless beneath Steve and he would be hard pressed to move an inch. He has to push Steve off him to regain some air, but Steve only rolls off to the side, breathing shallow breaths as they both stare at the ceiling. 

  
"This doesn't mean anything." Tony says after a while, not looking at Steve as he puts his cock back into his boxers and pulls his sweats back up, wiggling in place before laying motionless again. 

  
"I know," Steve answers, "but it could."


End file.
